Walking Disaster

by Jamie McGuire

  "Yes." She breathed.

  "I guess today wouldn't be a good day to break it to my dad, then, huh?"

  "No, but we'd better. You're right, I don't want him hearing the news somewhere else."

  Her answer surprised me, but I didn't question it. Abby tried to get me to drive, but I refused, insisting she get comfortable behind the wheel.

  The drive to Dad's from campus didn't take long--but longer than if I'd driven. Abby obeyed all traffic laws, mostly because she was nervous about getting pulled over and accidentally handing the cop the fake ID.

  Our little town seemed different as it passed by, or maybe it was me that wasn't the same. I wasn't sure if it was being a married man that made me feel a little more relaxed--laid-back, even--or if I had finally settled into my own skin. I was now in a situation where I didn't have to prove myself, because the one person that fully accepted me, my best friend, was now a permanent fixture in my life.

  It seemed like I had completed a task, overcome an obstacle. I thought about my mother, and the words she said to me almost a lifetime ago. That's when it clicked: she had asked me not to settle, to fight for the person I loved, and for the first time, I did what she expected of me. I had finally lived up to who she wanted me to be.

  I took a deep, cleansing breath, and reached over to rest my hand on Abby's knee.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "What is what?"

  "The look on your face."

  Her eyes shifted between me and the road, extremely curious. I imagined it was a new expression, but I couldn't begin to explain what it might look like.

  "I'm just happy, baby."

  Abby half hummed, half laughed. "Me, too."

  Admittedly I was a little nervous about telling my dad about our eventful getaway to Vegas, but not because he would be mad. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but the butterflies in my stomach swirled faster and harder with every block closer that we came to Dad's house.

  Abby pulled into the gravel driveway, soggy from the rain, and stopped beside the house.

  "What do you think he'll say?" she asked.

  "I don't know. He'll be happy, I know that."

  "You think so?" Abby asked, reaching for my hand.

  I squeezed her fingers between mine. "I know so."

  Before we could make it to the front door, Dad stepped out onto the porch.

  "Well, hello there, kids" he said, smiling. His eyes scrunched as his cheeks pushed up the puffy bags under his eyes. "I wasn't sure who was out here. Did you get a new car, Abby? It's nice."

  "Hey, Jim." Abby smiled. "Travis did."

  "It's ours," I said, pulling off my ball cap. "We thought we'd stop by."

  "I'm glad you did . . . glad you did. We're getting some rain, I guess."

  "I guess," I said, my nerves stifling any ability I had for small talk. What I thought were nerves was really just excitement to share the news with my father.

  Dad knew something was amiss. "You had a good spring break?"

  "It was . . . interesting," Abby said, leaning into my side.

  "Oh?"

  "We took a trip, Dad. We skipped on over to Vegas for a couple of days. We decided to uh . . . we decided to get married."

  Dad paused for a few seconds, and then his eyes quickly searched for Abby's left hand. When he found the validation he was looking for, he looked to Abby, and then to me.

  "Dad?" I said, surprised by the blank expression on his face.

  My father's eyes glossed a bit, and then the corners of his mouth slowly turned up. He outstretched his arms, and enveloped me and Abby at the same time.

  Smiling, Abby peeked over at me. I winked back at her.

  "I wonder what Mom would say if she were here," I said.

  Dad pulled back, his eyes wet with happy tears. "She'd say you did good, son." He looked at Abby. "She'd say thank you for giving her boy back something that left him when she did."

  "I don't know about that," Abby said, wiping her eyes. She was clearly overwhelmed by Dad's sentiment.

  He hugged us again, laughing and squeezing at the same time. "You wanna bet?"

  EPILOGUE

  THE WALLS DRIPPED WITH RAINWATER FROM THE streets above. The droplets plopped down into deepening puddles, as if they were crying for him, the bastard lying in the middle of the basement in a pool of his own blood.

  I breathed hard, looking down at him, but not for long. Both of my Glocks were pointed in opposite directions, holding Benny's men in place until the rest of my team arrived.

  The earpiece buried deep in my ear buzzed. "ETA ten seconds, Maddox. Good work." The head of my team, Henry Givens, spoke quietly, knowing as well as I did that with Benny dead, it was all over.

  A dozen men with automatic rifles and dressed in black from head to toe rushed in, and I lowered my weapons. "They're just bag men. Get 'em the hell out of here."

  After holstering my pistols, I pulled the remaining tape from my wrists and trudged up the basement stairs. Thomas waited for me at the top, his khaki coat and hair drenched from the storm.

  "You did what you had to do," he said, following me to the car. "You all right?" he said, reaching for the cut on my eyebrow.

  I'd been sitting in that wooden chair for two hours, getting my ass kicked while Benny questioned me. They'd figured me out that morning--all part of the plan, of course--but the end of his interrogation was supposed to result in his arrest, not his death.

  My jaws worked violently under the skin. I had come a long way from losing my temper and beating the hell out of anyone that sparked my rage. But in just a few seconds, all of my training had been rendered worthless, and it just took Benny speaking her name for that to happen.

  "I've gotta get home, Tommy. I've been away for weeks, and it's our anniversary . . . or what's left of it."

  I yanked open the car door, but Thomas grabbed my wrist. "You need to be debriefed, first. You've spent years on this case."

  "Wasted. I've wasted years."

  Thomas sighed. "You don't wanna bring this home with you, do you?"

  I sighed. "No, but I have to go. I promised her."

  "I'll call her. I'll explain."

  "You'll lie."

  "It's what we do."

  The truth was always ugly. Thomas was right. He practically raised me, but I didn't truly know him until I was recruited by the FBI. When Thomas left for college, I thought he was studying advertising, and later he told us he was an advertising executive in California. He was so far away, it was easy for him to keep his cover.

  Looking back, it made sense, now, why Thomas had decided to come home for once without needing a special occasion--the night he met Abby. Back then, when he'd first started investigating Benny and his numerous illegal activities, it was just blind luck that his little brother met and fell in love with the daughter of one of Benny's borrowers. Even better that we ended up entangled in his business.

  The second I graduated with a degree in criminal justice, it just made sense for the FBI to contact me. The honor was lost on me. It never occurred to me or Abby that they had thousands of applications a year, and didn't make a habit of recruiting. But I was a built-in undercover operative, already having connections to Benny.

  Years of training and time away from home had culminated to Benny lying on the floor, his dead eyes staring up at the ceiling of the underground. The entire magazine of my Glock was buried deep in his torso.

  I lit a cigarette. "Call Sarah at the office. Tell her to book me the next flight. I want to be home before midnight."

  "He threatened your family, Travis. We all know what Benny is capable of. No one blames you."

  "He knew he was caught, Tommy. He knew he had nowhere to go. He baited me. He baited me, and I fell for it."

  "Maybe. But detailing the torture and death of the wife of his most lethal acquaintance wasn't exactly good business. He had to know he couldn't intimidate you."

  "Yeah," I said through clenched teeth, remembering the vi
vid picture Benny painted of kidnapping Abby and stripping the flesh away from her bones piece by piece. "I bet he wishes he wasn't such a good storyteller, now."

  "And there is always Mick. He's next on the list."

  "I told you, Tommy. I can consult on that one. Not a good idea for me to participate."

  Thomas only smiled, willing to wait another time for that discussion.

  I slid into the backseat of the car that was waiting to take me to the airport. Once the door closed behind me, and the driver pulled away from the curb, I dialed Abby's number.

  "Hi, baby," Abby lilted.

  Immediately, I took a deep, cleansing breath. Her voice was all the debriefing I needed.

  "Happy anniversary, Pigeon. I'm on my way home."

  "You are?" she asked, her voice rising an octave. "Best present, eve r."

  "How's everything?"

  "We're over at Dad's. James just won another hand of poker. I'm starting to worry."

  "He's your son, Pidge. Does it surprise you that he's good at cards?"

  "He beat me, Trav. He's good."

  I paused. "He beat you?"

  "Yes."

  "I thought you had a rule about that."

  "I know." She sighed. "I know. I don't play anymore, but he had a bad day, and it was a good way to get him to talk about it."

  "How's that?"

  "There's a kid at school. Made a comment about me today."

  "Not the first time a boy made a pass at the hot math teacher."

  "No, but I guess it was particularly crude. Jay told him to shut up. There was a scuffle."

  "Did Jay beat his ass?"

  "Travis!"

  I laughed. "Just asking!"

  "I saw it from my classroom. Jessica got there before I did. She might have . . . humiliated her brother. A little. Not on purpose."

  I closed my eyes. Jessica, with her big honey-brown eyes, long dark hair, and ninety pounds of mean, was my mini-me. She had an equally bad temper and never wasted time with words. Her first fight was in kindergarten, defending her twin brother, James, against a poor, unsuspecting girl who was teasing him. We tried to explain to her that the little girl probably just had a crush, but Jessie wouldn't have any of it. No matter how many times James begged her to let him fight his own battles, she was fiercely protective, even if he was eight minutes older.

  I puffed. "Let me talk to her."

  "Jess! Dad's on the phone!"

  A sweet, small voice came over the line. It was amazing to me that she could be as savage as I ever was, and still sound--and look--like an angel.

  "Hi, Daddy."

  "Baby . . . did you find some trouble today?"

  "It wasn't my fault, Daddy."

  "It never is."

  "Jay was bleeding. He was pinned down."

  My blood boiled, but steering my kids in the right direction came first. "What did Papa say?"

  "He said, 'It's about time someone humbled Steven Matese.'"

  I was glad she couldn't see me smile at her spot-on Jim Maddox impression.

  "I don't blame you for wanting to defend your brother, Jess, but you have to let him fight some battles on his own."

  "I will. Just not when he's on the ground."

  I choked back another swell of laughter. "Let me talk to Mom. I'll be home in a few hours. Love you bunches, baby."

  "Love you, too, Daddy!"

  The phone scratched a bit as it made the transition from Jessica to Abby, and then my wife's smooth voice was back on the line.

  "You didn't help at all, did you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

  "Probably not. She had a good argument."

  "She always does."

  "True. Listen, we're pulling up to the airport. I'll see you soon. Love you."

  When the driver parked next to the curb in the terminal, I rushed to pull out my bag from the trunk. Sarah, Thomas's assistant, just sent through an email with my itinerary, and my flight was leaving in half an hour. I rushed through check-in and security, and made it to the gate just as they were calling the first group.

  The flight home seemed to last an eternity, as they always did. Even though I used a quarter of it to freshen up and change clothes in the bathroom--which was always a challenge--the time left over still dragged by.

  Knowing my family was waiting for me was brutal, but the fact that it was my and Abby's eleventh anniversary made it even worse. I just wanted to hold my wife. It was all I had ever wanted to do. I was just as in love with her in our eleventh year as I was in the first.

  Every anniversary was a victory, a middle finger to everyone who thought we wouldn't last. Abby tamed me, marriage settled me down, and when I became a father, my entire outlook changed.

  I stared down at my wrist and pulled back my cuff. Abby's nickname was still there, and it still made me feel better knowing it was there.

  The plane landed, and I had to keep myself from sprinting through the terminal. Once I got to my car, my patience had expired. For the first time in years, I ran stoplights and weaved in and out of traffic. It was actually kind of fun, reminding me of my college days.

  I pulled into the drive and turned off the headlights. The front porch light flipped on as I approached.

  Abby opened the door, her caramel hair just barely grazing her shoulders, and her big gray eyes, although a little tired, showed how relieved she was to see me. I pulled her into my arms, trying not to squeeze her too tightly.

  "Oh my God," I sighed, burying my face in her hair. "I missed you so much."

  Abby pulled away, touching the cut on my brow. "Did you take a fall?"

  "It was a rough day at work. I might have run into the car door when I was leaving for the airport."

  Abby pulled me against her again, digging her fingers into my back. "I'm so glad you're home. The kids are in bed, but they refuse to go to sleep until you tuck them in."

  I pulled back and nodded, and then bent at the waist, cupping Abby's round stomach. "How about you?" I asked my third child. I kissed Abby's protruding belly button, and then stood up again.

  Abby rubbed her middle in a circular motion. "He's still cooking."

  "Good." I pulled a small box from my carry-on and held it in front of me. "Eleven years today, we were in Vegas. It's still the best day of my life."

  Abby took the box, and then tugged on my hand until we were in the entryway. It smelled like a combination of cleaner, candles, and kids. It smelled like home.

  "I got you something, too."

  "Oh, yeah?"

  "Yeah." She smiled. She left me for a moment, disappearing into the office, and then came out with a manila envelope. "Open it."

  "You got me mail? Best wife, ever," I teased.

  Abby simply smiled.

  I opened the lip, and pulled out the small stack of papers inside. Dates, times, transactions, even emails. To and from Benny, to Abby's father, Mick. He'd been working for Benny for years. He'd borrowed more money from him, and then had to work off his debt so he wouldn't get killed when Abby refused to pay it off.

  There was only one problem: Abby knew I worked with Thomas . . . but as far as I knew, she thought I worked in advertising.

  "What's this?" I asked, feigning confusion.

  Abby still had a flawless poker face. "It's the connection you need to tie Mick to Benny. This one right here," she said, pulling the second paper from the pile, "is the nail in the coffin."

  "Okay . . . but what am I supposed to do with it?"

  Abby's expression morphed into a dubious grin. "Whatever you do with these things, honey. I just thought if I did a little digging, you could stay home a little longer this time."

  My mind raced, trying to figure a way out of this. I had somehow blown my cover. "How long have you known?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Are you mad?"

  Abby shrugged. "I was a little hurt at first. You have quite a few white lies under your belt."

  I hugged her to me, the papers and envelope s
till in my hand. "I'm so sorry, Pidge. I'm so, so sorry." I pulled away. "You haven't told anyone, have you?"

  She shook her head.

  "Not even America or Shepley? Not even Dad or the kids?"

  She shook her head again. "I'm smart enough to figure it out, Travis. You think I'm not smart enough to keep it to myself? Your safety is at stake."

  I cupped her cheeks in my hand. "What does this mean?"

  She smiled. "It means you can stop saying you have yet another convention to go to. Some of your cover stories are downright insulting."

  I kissed her again, tenderly touching my lips to hers. "Now what?"

  "Kiss the kids, and then you and I can celebrate eleven years of in-your-face-we-made-it. How about that?"

  My mouth stretched into a wide grin, and then looked down at the papers. "Are you going to be okay with this? Helping take down your dad?"

  Abby frowned. "He's said it a million times. I was the end of him. At least I can make him proud about being right. And the kids are safer this way."

  I laid the papers on the end of the entryway table. "We'll talk about this later."

  I walked down the hall, pulling Abby by the hand behind me. Jessica's room was the closest, so I ducked in and kissed her cheek, careful not to wake her, and then I crossed the hall to James's room. He was still awake, lying there quietly.

  "Hey, buddy," I whispered.

  "Hey, Dad."

  "I hear you had a rough day. You all right?" He nodded. "You sure?"

  "Steven Matese is a douche bag."

  I nodded. "You're right, but you could probably find a more appropriate way to describe him."

  James pulled his mouth to the side.

  "So. You beat Mom at poker today, huh?"

  James smiled. "Twice."

  "She didn't tell me that part," I said, turning to Abby. Her dark, curvy silhouette graced the lit doorway. "You can give me the play-by-play tomorrow."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I love ya."

  "Love you, too, Dad."

  I kissed my son's nose and then followed his mom down the hall to our room. The walls were full of family and school portraits, and framed artwork.

  Abby stood in the middle of the room, her belly full with our third child, dizzyingly beautiful, and happy to see me, even after she learned what I'd been keeping from her for the better part of our marriage.

  I had never been in love before Abby, and no one had even piqued my interest since. My life was the woman standing before me, and the family we'd made together.

  Abby opened the box, and looked up at me, tears in her eyes. "You always know just what to get. It's perfect," she said, her graceful fingers touching the three birthstones of our children. She slipped it on her right ring finger, holding out her hand to admire her new bauble.